Dinner
by Simon920
Summary: Dick Grayson and Garth need to work out a problem. Though not graphic, this is a slash story. You don't like, don't read.


**Warnings: Slash**

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Dinner**

Garth was in the kitchen, measuring out the cous-cous, simmering some broth, cleaning the vegetables before chopping them when Dick wandered in, hair still damp from the shower, barefoot and wearing just a pair of old, comfortable jeans. It was a good look for him and one Garth would normally spend more time admiring. Officer Grayson was gone for the night and with any luck Nightwing wouldn't appear too soon. Dinner was a bit later than usual for them tonight; it had been a full day for them both with a double shift for Dick and an even more crowded day than normal for Garth.

It had been fun over at the pool this afternoon and Garth was looking forward to telling Dick about his day. It was something different for him, a break from the ongoing grind of treaties and boring meetings and would, hopefully, set a light mood for the evening.

Garth had been invited to watch the Swimming and Diving World Championships being held in New York City. At first he was going to just blow it off—he got a lot of invitations and most of them were because the hosts wanted publicity but this time he decided—of what the hell—and took the afternoon off. And he'd actually had a pretty good time. The races were ridiculous, of course, but he'd had fun hanging with some of the swimmers he knew and after the last race, when the stands were clearing out, he had agreed to a friendly pick up match race with a couple of the guys.

Ian Thorpe and Mike Phelps had bet they could keep up with him in a 200 meter freestyle. There had been a lot of laughing and the rest of the competitors who were still hanging around had found standing room around the water, placing bets and cheering the three of them on. Somebody even got the official timing clocks going for the lanes they were using. The ESPN and ABC cameramen were still there and turned on the cameras, both under and above water. The race would be broadcast on almost every news and sports program the next day and still no one really believed it—the efficiency of movement, the fluidly in the turns, the otherworldly grace—incredible. Atlanteans tended to keep their swimming lights under a bushel when possible; showing off was just so, well, tacky, especially against surfacers. It was like—what was that old saying they had? Oh right, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.

While Ian and Mike were making the first of the three turns—in close to world record time, no less, Garth was touching the wall for the end of the race. The record shattered, tattered and in shreds—Ian's world record of 1:44.06 was reduced to 0:17.79. Garth had swum the distance two seconds faster than the world track and field sprinting record for that distance. Of course he'd stayed underwater the whole time, claiming that when they'd said 'freestyle' he'd thought he could use any stroke he wanted, but they'd let that go in the spirit of sportsmanship. He was barely winded—after all, they were friends, it was just a fun kind of thing and he wasn't about to go flat out against them or anything. He knew better than that and it wasn't like he was out to embarrass them; he was just a whole lot faster than they were. Besides, the Olympic size pool was really too small for him to really stretch his legs, as it were.

He'd modestly acknowledged the compliments and the congratulations, changed out of the borrowed racing suit and dried off; hungry and ready to get home so he and Dick could eat together. This would amuse Dick—well, probably, anyway.

Every swimming coach in the world would study the films from the race for years.

Before going over to the pool he'd had an early lunch with several UN delegates he'd become friendly with during the talks—a farewell and best of luck lunch since he was transferring to Washington DC to take up the post of Atlan Ambassador to the United States. It was a promotion and a step forward in his career. It meant that he had to move there, down to DC and he hadn't told Dick yet. He'd wanted to wait until it was really definite but this morning the order had come through for him to report within ten days to be briefed by the outgoing woman who had been transferred to London. He had that same ten days to get his own replacement up to speed.

He had been dreading it for months, ever since Arthur had first brought it up. The only good news was that he hadn't gotten the Australia assignment he'd been threatened with. Garth was, as they said, conflicted. He wanted the job but…damn.

The king wanted Garth to end his relationship with Dick and this was one of his less than subtle ways of forcing the issue. He would also be pleased if Garth found a nice woman back home to marry and produce an heir with, but Arthur knew better than to actually come out and say so.

"I hear you knocked everyone's socks off today over at that swim meet."

Garth gave what may have been the world's smallest shrug, "It was just a, you know…it wasn't anything."

"You made the news." Dick was incredibly proud of Garth; he could walk across the street, practically, and make the news. It was just who he was. Of course Garth would never believe that but that was another reason Dick loved him—with all the grandstanders in their business, it was a relief to be with someone who was genuinely modest.

Dick stood in the doorway, watching him work, grating the cheese and getting things ready with an efficiency Dick could never hope to attain when it came to food; his own kitchen abilities began and ended with instant coffee and ordering take-out. He was an indifferent cook at best and his worse wasn't worth talking about. "Where did you learn how to cook?" Garth glanced a bemused question at him. "No really, you make it look easy and it always tastes good." He smiled, hoping to tease Garth out of the brooding mood that had been building for the last couple of weeks. They'd hardly exchanged ten words in the last few days and Dick didn't know what the problem was—maybe he'd done something to upset Garth, maybe there were problems with work, maybe he was coming down with a cold or something. Unless Garth decided to talk, he'd probably never find out.

Garth finally spoke, quietly and without looking up, his attention focused on the job at hand while telling the story. "When I was a child living in the palace I didn't really have any friends. After my classes were over for the day I'd have no one to talk to—everyone else was busy and I would be bored; there weren't any other children around who were allowed to play with me. One day, I guess I must have been around eleven, I found my way down to the kitchens. The head cook there was—well, she's a chef, really and still is there and is a kind woman who would allow me to stay and talk with her. I got into the habit of going down there every afternoon after class and I'd tell her about things—I guess she was a sort of surrogate grandmother or aunt or something and after a while she'd have treats waiting for me—making me promise not to tell anyone, though I'm sure everyone knew. Finally she told me that if I was going to be hanging around I should learn how to make myself useful." He shrugged slightly. "Over the next few years she taught me as we worked and eventually I found that I enjoyed it—well, I enjoyed being with her and it just carried over." He finished his chopping, carefully wiping off the knives and clearing up the scraps and odds and ends. "I still see her when I go back. I ended up making the desserts for the State Dinner we held a couple of months ago."

His story finished, Garth stopped talking. The silence lasted a little too long. "I love listening to you talk and you're been so quiet lately." Dick put his arms were around Garth's waist from the back, kissing his neck and shoulder through his shirt. "Busy day?"

"Worse than some, better than others."

Okay, try again. "So, since the holidays are coming up, I was wondering if you might be able to get away from the negotiations for a week or so. We could maybe get the JLA to let us use their transporter, maybe go to your island, just sit on the beach, swim, screw—sound good?"

"It sounds perfect but I have to work."

"Doing what? More treaties fighting getting signed again or do you have a hot date?"

Garth didn't answer, then turned around in Dick's arms, his face unreadable as he initiated a long drawn out kiss, followed by several more which were hot enough to cause them both to breathe harder and raise blood pressure. Obviously something was going on and he didn't want Dick to know about—or something was classified, in which case he wouldn't say anything. There was no point in even asking. Garth broke the kiss, raised his hand to cup Dick's cheek, looking as though he might say more but seemed to change his mind and simply lowered his hand instead. "Dinner is almost ready; could you set the table, please?" He turned back to the counter, dismissing Dick for the moment.

It wasn't like Garth to change the subject like that, proof that there was something wrong and it would only come out when Garth was ready or not at all. He gave Dick a dismissive kiss on the forehead before turning back again to finish the salad. "I do love you, you know." Dick looked pleased by that and Garth mentally braced himself, knowing there was no point in trying to evade this—there was so little time. "We have to talk."

God, the classic comment when something was about to hit the fan. Dick went slightly numb himself—had he done something to anger Garth? Upset him somehow? Christ—there couldn't be someone else, could there? He tried for casual. "What about?"

"I wanted to wait until after dinner, but…Arthur's been hinting around about this for a while now, this morning it was made official." He went on with the slightest of pauses. "I'm being transferred to Washington for the Ambassadorship there. I leave in less than two weeks." Simple, matter of fact.

"But…" Dick's normal tan paled and he stood staring at Garth, trying to process what he'd just heard.

"We have a couple of options we can discuss. This isn't necessarily the end."

"Don't you get a vote here? I mean, can't you turn him down or defer it or something?" A small shake of Garth's head and Dick knew that wasn't seriously considered. Garth was a loyal soldier; he'd do what he was ordered to do by his king. "…What options?"

"We could see one another on days off." Dick's look was one of disbelief. "We could commute, though I guess it's probably too far. You could ask for a transfer to the DCPD or Arlington or someplace down there." Dick had begun unconsciously shaking his head 'no'. "We could step back for a while, take a break to concentrate on our jobs." Or, the big one here; "We could accept it and stop seeing one another."

Dick dropped his hands from where they were resting at Garth's waist. "You're serious about this—it's a done deal."

"I'm to report a week from Monday."

"Well…shit." He seemed slightly out of breath. "Do you _want_ to end it? Is that the option you want?"

"Of course not; that's Arthur's desire, not mine"

"And that's it?"

Garth looked at him, calm, composed as always but Dick saw it wasn't really that easy for him, either. He was putting a mask on; the only question; was he doing it to keep himself from breaking down or was he doing it to force Dick into acceptance and stoicism? Garth hated conflicts with a passion, he avoided them at all costs. And Dick knew that this was killing them both. They'd work something out; they had to for both their sakes.

"What else do you want me to say, Rob?" His voice was quiet, sad, resigned. "I can't refuse this, you know that as well as I do and we both knew it was just a matter of time before…"

"Before Arthur got his way, right?"

Garth took a breath and looked like he was studying Dick, almost as if he was an interesting subject in some kind of experiment or something. "This isn't about us—not as far as Arthur is concerned, anyway. I'm not important enough for him to care who I'm with, assuming it's not actually detrimental to the crown or the nation somehow. This is about what's best for the negotiations and right now I need to be in Washington." He turned back to the dinner, now in some danger of burning. Spooning his food onto his own plate, he handed the ladle to Dick and sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Dick to join him. Half placing, half tossing the utensil onto the counter, Dick stared at him.

"Why, because you're the only one who can figure out contracts and treaties?"

"Dick...please. You're not that naïve." Garth didn't want to be having this conversation at all; he wanted this to just be a normal evening at home for the two of them. He wanted to eat dinner, relax for a while then go to bed together like they did almost every night. No big deal, nothing out of the ordinary.

"You're serious, aren't you? This is a done deal and I can take it or leave it? Four years together and this is your idea of letting me down easy? 'I'm outta here, come if you want—or not—and have a nice life?'"

Garth sighed and managed, barely, to not roll his eyes at what he undoubtedly considered yet another of Dick's drama queen moments. Placing his fork carefully on the edge of his plate he tried to explain it again. "You know, we both knew, that our being together was dependant on a lot of things all lining up and that at some point we would have to either readjust what we were doing and how we were doing it or accept that it had…" He paused, seeming to search for the words, "Perhaps run it's natural course. You knew this, Dick."

'Run it's natural course'? Is that what he really thought or was this just another out they could use to rationalize what was happening? "And it never occurred to you that maybe I might want to know this was coming? I had a right to know, dammit, Garth—where the hell do you come off just springing this on me like this? I mean—Jesus."

Garth shook his head slightly. "And if I'd mentioned this a month ago all you'd have done was worry about it, right? What would have been the point in that?" He picked up his fork, calmly. "The thing we now must decide is what we're going to do. Please sit down and discuss this with me rationally."

"Fuck rational."

He declined to respond and concentrated on his food, not looking at Dick. He'd known that this was how Dick would react initially and he'd expected it. In a few hours, maybe tomorrow Dick would have thought this through and come up with several possible plans, they would talk about them and make a decision together.

"How can you just sit there?" Dick was angry and hurt, intellectually Garth understood that but he couldn't really understand what the point was. It got in the way, wasted time and was upsetting. Arthur had told him more than once that his ability to distance himself from the emotions and outbursts of other people was one of the reasons he was so good at negotiations—he could see through the emotionalism of a subject and just deal with the facts. At the time he'd taken it as compliment but he knew Dick would have taken it as an insult and not forgotten the slight.

"Sit down and eat your dinner. We'll discuss this."

"_Discuss this?_ Go to hell." Dick moved to the bedroom, slamming the door.

He was still at the table, calm, like he always was, dispassionate and logical. That was what Dick was seeing and Garth knew it was a big part of the reason he was so upset. But what Dick couldn't see…

Hell, now when it mattered most, for once in his life…he stood up, placing his napkin carefully on the table. Opening the bedroom door, he found Dick siting on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Garth left the light off. The street lamp outside allowing them to see. He walked over, putting his hand on Dick's shoulder in a small caress and spoke quietly. "I have no choice in this, Rob, you know this."

"I know that, but is this what you want? You sure as hell don't seem to be fighting it too fucking hard." But then Dick had no reason to know about the six months or more of arguments with Arthur, of his trying to work things out so they could still go on as they had been for years now.

"The people I deal with on the various committees and corporations know I'm involved with a man and no one cares—the work we're doing is the reason for our being in meetings, not gossip. Arthur knows this; he's just being…Arthur. He's causing trouble because he can and, the longer it goes on, the more I'm convinced he may be jealous of us."

"Jealous?" Dick snorted in disbelief and anger. "And pigs fly, too."

What did he mean? Garth had never heard of pigs flying but—no matter. "I think he's jealous of our being together and being happy. Ever since Mera left him he's become bitter, angry at seeing others who have what he's lost." Garth paused then shifted a bit, siting on the bed, moving his hand up to the side of Dick's. Kissing Dick, he tried, without words, to express how he felt then drew back an inch or so. "I love you, you know that too."

Dick was still stiff, angry. "I love you, too—so what?" Hurt and feeling betrayed, he wasn't making this easy.

"I love you as much as I've ever loved anyone in my life and you know what that means."

"It means that I'm a distant second behind your frigging duty to King and country."

Garth kept talking, ignoring Dick's attitude. "I used to believe Tula and I would spend our lives together, after she was killed I believed I'd be alone for the rest of my life until you…don't you understand? You're all that keeps me from being what Arthur wants me to be." He slipped an arm around Dick's waist, pulling them together, resting his head lightly on Dick's shoulder. "You're what makes me human." He rubbed his cheek against Dick's chest. "Without you I'm cold, detached because I have to be. With you I'm…" He twisted off the bed, moving until he was kneeling in front of his lover, reaching up to initiate a kiss, long and full of warmth. "You let me be the man I wish I could be all the time."

There was a lot Dick could think of to say to that, beginning with just laughing and ending with him walking out with a hundred comments in between the two. "So what happens now?"

"_Would_ you consider a transfer to a jurisdiction down there?" That would be the easiest solution from Garth's point of view.

"And what about the 'Haven, the Titans, working with Bruce on cases? And aside from all that, what about the friends we have up here? You're okay with asking me to walk away from my life here? I know it's not much, but it's been working for me for the last few years." He turned the knife a little. "You're not the only person in my life, you know."

Yes, Garth knew that but this was getting them nowhere. Another thought struck him, an unrelated one. "Surfacers really can't swim."

Dick looked at him, taken aback, expecting more argument. "Excuse me?"

"I was at the world meet today, they're really not very good."

Dick smiled just a bit. "I knew you'd hate it."

"I didn't, actually I had a good time. I saw some friends and it was fine. It was just the swimming and diving that needed work." The conversation lagged a little. "Dinner is probably ruined."

"Fuck dinner, we need to work this out." Dick wasn't easy to get off a subject once he had his teeth in it. Usually that was a good thing but tonight Garth was tired of the subject and wanted the calm of being in bed with Dick, the two of them making love and shutting out the rest of the world.

"Dick…"

"How long is your assignment in DC for?"

"Opened ended. I've no idea but a while, I'm sure."

"And that's a good three or four hour drive from here. Shit." He stood up, pacing back and forth, mulling over the options as Garth watched.

"You know there aren't any heroes working in Washington now. The closest is Supergirl and she's miles away. You could do it, you know."

Dick laughed out loud. "I could clean up DC? There aren't enough watchdog groups or heroes in the universe. And—Christ!—a couple miles from Supergirl? She has a massive crush on me. Do you really want to deal with that?"

Garth knew Supergirl was a non-issue between them. "But you could make a difference, Dick. You did in Gotham and Bludhaven and with the Titans and the Outsiders."

They went round and round in circles for another hour before shaking their heads and deciding that their best option was to hit the pool together. Swimming naked, drifting together, Garth began to move down to between Dick's legs, stroking and moving with clear and familiar intent until Dick—for the first time since they'd become lovers, gently eased him away just a bit. "That's not going to solve anything."

It wasn't said with anger, just sadness.

A couple of hours late, with no real resolution, they finally simply went to bed, curled around one another, spooning and wondering how many more nights together they'd have.

* * *

"Change the assignment, Arthur."

"I don't recall you being listed as one of my advisors. The choice was made for the greater good. He's the most qualified for the position and my decision stands."

"Your decision was made to separate them and for no other reason; you have other diplomats who could handle this."

"I have other diplomats but none who are as familiar with the surface or the intricacies of the English language as he is. He's the best choice. Furthermore, this is an internal matter and doesn't concern you, Batman. _Leave it_."

"Then have the negotiations moved to New York."

"Don't tell me how to run my business, _Bruce_."

"I will when you pull this kind of thing, _Arthur_. You hurt my son, you deal with me. Are you prepared to do that?"

Arthur swore over the phone, the normally soft Atlantean language harsh with his predictable anger.

"Yes, whatever, but you annoy me enough and Wayne Enterprises will withdraw from the talks and take Microsoft, MCI, Kraft Foods, the British Museum and the major oil companies with us."

"Empty threats."

"If you say so."

"…"

"Arthur?"

"Fine."

2/27/07

11


End file.
